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Huh-softly tread, and filence keep;
The wanton gods are all asleep;
Let's break their darts and bows,

So in our turn

We'll make them mourn,

And give the world repose.
'Tis done : for scarce the goddess spoke,
But lo! their darts and bows are broke;
Their quivers hang in triumph high,
When thus the nymphs express their joy:

Our victory's great,

Our glory's compleat,
No longer shall we be alarm'd;

Then sing and rejoice,

With one heart and voice,
Fór Cupid at length is disarm’d.

Ye nymphs and ye swains,

Who dwell on these plains,
And have by fond passions been harm’d, :

Secure of your hearts

Now laugh at his darts,
For Cupid at length is disarm’d.
Rouz'd with the noise, the god in wild affright
Awakes; but oh! what objects shock his fight!
His dreaded arms in scatter'd shivers thrown;
- cruel goddess but I fcorn to moan.
Revenge be mine-still one unbroken dart
Remains-He said, and lanc'd it thro' her heart.

Beware how you the god of love provoke ;
Ah! what avail a thousand arrows broke,

If one remains to waft

The dire heart-wounding shaft !
Ah! what avail a thoufand arrows broke
If one remains to waft the fatal stroke!


A fragment of Menander, translated by Francis Fawks, M. A.


HOE’ER approaches to the Lord of all,

And with his offerings defolates the stall;
Who brings an hundred bulls with garlands drest,
The purple mantle, or the golden vest,
Or ivory figures richly wrought around,
Or curious images with emeralds crown'd;
And hopes with these God's favour to obtain,
His thoughts are foolish and his hopes are vain.
He, only he may truft his pray’rs will rise,
And heav'n accept his grateful facrifice,



Who leads beneficent a virtuous life,
Who wrongs no virgin, who corrupts no wife;
No robber he, no murderer of mankind,
No miser, servant to the sordid mind.
Dare to be just, my Pamphilus, disdain
The smallest trifle for the greatest gain :
For God is nigh thee, and

his purer fight
In acts of goodness only takes delight:
He feeds the labourer for his honest toil,
And heaps his substance as he turns the soil.
To him then humbly pay the rites divine,
And not in garments, but in goodness shine.
Guiltlefs of conscience thou may'it safely sleep,
Tho' thunder bellow thro' the boundless deep.



USY Rhetor, hence away

Dictate not to me, I pray ;
What'care I for all


rules ?
Love and Bacchus hate the schools.
Teach me not, then, what to say,
Teach Anacreon to be

gay :
Teach me not then how to think,
Teach Anacreon how to drink.

See the envious hand of time,
Robs Anacreon of his prime !
See the wrinkles knit my brow!
See the Gilver tresses flow !
Cease, then cease your pedant ftrain ;
Fit for philofophic brain.
Since, my friend, I'm growing grey,
I'll be whilft I

may ;
Drink and revel it away.
Quickly boy nay fafter pour ;
Death, perhaps, is at the door:
Quick then
left I drink no more.



H Y M E N tous E LI Z A. 4.*

By I - -
MADAM, before your feet I lay

This ode upon your wedding day,
The first indeed I ever made,
For writing odes is not my trade;

She therefore to her chamber fped,
And thus at first attir'd her head:
Upon her hair, with brilliants grac'd,
Her tow'r of 'beamy gold the plac'd;
Her cars with pendent jewels glow'd
Of various water, curious mode,
As nature sports the wintry ice,
In many a whimsical device,
Her eye-brows arch'd, upon the stream
Of rays, beyond the piercing beam;
Her cheeks, in matchless colour high,
She veild to fix the gazer's eye;
Her breast, as white as fancy draws,
She cover'd with a crimson gauze,
And on her wings the threw perfume
From buds of everlasting bloom.
Her zone, ungirded from her velt,
She wore across her swelling breast,
On which, in gems, this verse was wrought,
“ I make and shift the scenes of thought.”
In her right-hand a wand the held,
Which magic's utmost pow'r excell'd;
And in her left retain'd a chart,
With figures far surpassing art,
Of other reatures, funs and moons,
of other moves to higher tunes.
The fylphs and fylphids, fleet as light,
The fairies of the gamesome night,
The muses, graces, all attend
Her service to her journey's end :
And fortune, sometimes at her hand,
Is now the fav’rite of her band,
Dispatch'd before the news to bear,
And all thadventure to prepare.

Beneath an holm-tree's friendly shade
Was Reason's little cottage made;
Before, a river deep and Atill,
Behind, a rocky, soaring hill.
Himself, adorn'd in seemly plight,
Was reading to the eastern light;
And ever, as he meekly knelt,
Upon the book of wisdom dwelt.
The spirit of the lifting wheel
Thus first eslay'd his pu!fe to feel :
“ 'The nymph supreme o'er works of wit;
“ O'er labour'd plan and lucky hit,
“ Is coming to your homely cot!
" To call you to à nobler lot;

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For, « O! said he, were we but one, “ Sure bliss would center here alone; « For I by you encircled high, • Should scorn the oak’s proud majesty, • While your rich fruit time might mature “ From storms and favage beaits secure; • Our mutual help would foothe our care, s6 And heav'n approve the happy pair”

“ Forbear, fir elm, the vine reply'd, « Nor wonder if your suit's deny’d. Shall I give up my independence,

On your caprice to dance attendance ? • Muit I, or nod, or bend, or twine,

Just as your worship shall incline?
« Or shall my charms, which all admire,
“ Become a barren tree's attire?
· No-seek more tuitable alliance
“ I to all danger bid defiance.
“ Here, unconfin'd, I range my fill;
“ And bounteous nature waits my will.",
* At this the modeft elm, struck mute,
Forbore to urge his friendly suit:
But, forely griev'd to meet disdain,
A tender figh express'd his pain.

When, lo! thick darkness veils the pole,
Dread lightnings fash, loud thunders roll;
Impetuous rains in foods descend,
And trembling nature fears an end.
The vine, faint, fpiritless, forlorn,
Now seeks the succoar late her scorn
Creeps feebly to the elm's embrace;
And in his arms finds Tweet solace;
United thus they storms defy,
And mutual grace and aid supply:


From poems just published by Christopher Smart,

'T WAS in the famous Sabine grove,

Where wit fo oft with judgment ftrove,
Imagination in the fight
of young defire and gay delight, y
Began to think upon a mate,
As weary of the single state ;,.,
For fick of change, as left at will,
And cloy'd with entertainment ftill,
She thought it better to be grave,
To settle, to take up, and save;


“ Thy correspondent, thine ally,
" Or any thing but bind and tye.
" But ere this treaty be agreed,
“ Give me thy wand and winged (teed :
“ Take thou this compass and this rule,
“ That wit may cease to play the fool;
" And that thy vot'ries who are born
For praise, may never sink to scorn.'

An ancient TALE, from Gower, modernized.

N Rome, when Lucius bore the fway,

It happ'd, so ancient stories say,,
One ev’ning ere he went to bed,
To ease of all his cares, his head,
He call'd his steward, a doughty knight,
That he might counsel what was right
With's chamberlain, a lord of parts,
Deep kill'd in all the courtly arts ;
And by the chimney as they stood,
They freely talk'd as they thought good;
Before the fire upon a ftool,
Close by them sat the monarch's fool;
And as he with his bauble play'd,
He heard right well whate'er they said.

The king his various doubts propos'd,
And they, at will, their thoughts disclos'd.

When many questions thus had past,
The king demanded, at the last,
What with his people was his fame,
And if rever'd, or scorn'd his name?
Bid them the truth to him declare,
And tell him all things as they were ;
On their alllegiance, without awe
Or dread, that they might anger draw:
Since 'twas his will, as tongues will walk,
To know the common people's talk.

The feward, in answer, told the king,
(As palace nightingales ftill fing)
That far and wide, as he could hear,
His majesty to all was dear.
And his long reign by all defir'd;
T'hat all his actions were admir'd,
In this, that high and low agreed,
Hoping that heaven had so decreed :
Thus fpoke the steward'; and all he spoke
Was fatt'ry, drefs'd in falsehood's cloak.

Next, turning to his chamberlain,
The king requir'd in langunge plain,


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